Our Little Secret
by Victoria Viridian
Summary: Though Dolores Jane Umbridge loves her job, there are days when her mind wanders ... and sometimes, the head of the entire operation pops by for a visit.


_Our Little Secret_

_Those who possess no magical ancestry are therefore not considered Muggle-born witches and wizards, but rather Muggles that have obtained magic by stealth. The theft of magical power is a criminal act and must be punished by a lifetime sentence in Azkaban prison. _

Dolores Jane Umbridge dotted the period in her draft with a somewhat violent gesture of satisfaction. She got a particular thrill from writing Ministry of Magic pamphlets, for her cause was noble and her methods superior. But nothing could match the elation she felt knowing that _he_ would be so very impressed by her latest publication.

Of course, for diplomacy's sake, Dolores directed any public admiration toward Pius Thicknesse, the newly instated Minister for Magic. But unlike Thicknesse, Dolores was not the least bit thick. She was fully aware who was really behind the reforms and controlling the Minister using the Imperius curse.

She knew the identity of the mastermind because she had met him long ago, and understood without a doubt that he would become the most powerful wizard in the world.

Dolores' toad-like face spread into a smile as she recalled the encounter. It had been Dolores' fifth year at Hogwarts and she had been appointed Prefect. She enjoyed enforcing rules and was happy to assume this powerful role. But in the instant she saw Tom Riddle, her own power and authority had suddenly seemed as insignificant as her diminutive height.

She had been up in the seventh-floor corridor, not far from the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy trying to teach trolls how to do ballet. There she was, doing her Prefect duties, when the tall man slipped round the corner. He hadn't been wearing a uniform; and even if he were, she wouldn't have been oblivious enough to think he was still a student there. In fact, he had graduated years before, leaving a legacy at the school which she had followed with great interest, and though she was careful not to admit it, a sense of awe.

To see him here, in the flesh – which was stretched, waxy, over his handsome face – was so startling to her that she let out a little squeal.

Tom Riddle did a double take upon seeing her in the corridor. It was just as well, too, because Dolores knew she looked fabulous. Her curls were teased to perfection, topped precisely with a fluffy pink hair-bow; she had substituted the school cloak for one of her own pink cardigans, as it was after hours; and her skin had a youthful glow. Reveling in her appearance, Dolores had donned the final piece in her ensemble: the kitten brooch her Aunt Prudence had given her for Christmas.

Clearly, Riddle hadn't expected any students to be up here at this hour, least of all a pretty girl like Dolores.

To her incredulity, however, Tom Riddle passed her indifferently, striding down the corridor with purpose.

"Hem, hem," she coughed. When Riddle continued to walk, she called, "Won't you be polite enough to say hello?"

She wore a flirtatious and inviting smile as he turned reluctantly. He assumed an expression of great irritation, and seemed to struggle a moment, his eyes burning a bloody red. Dolores had never seen such a blaze in someone's eyes, and immediately connected the violent shade with the impression of great authority.

Finally, his face relaxed into one of entitled charm, his hollow cheeks rising slightly.

"Hello." He greeted her civilly with a bland smile.

"That's better. Now, what are you up to, Tom Riddle?" Dolores ventured. There. He would surely be startled and impressed that she knew his name.

"I do not go by that name anymore," he corrected her coldly.

"Well regardless, you must be up here for a reason," she chirped, unfazed by his unaccommodating behaviour.

"Just dropping something off," he replied crisply. "It's nothing to concern you."

"Oh, really?" she continued sweetly, emitting a girlish laugh. "It's my job as Prefect to make sure everything is in order here," she smiled.

Riddle's eyes gleamed again, though his face betrayed no emotion. "I know what Prefects do; I was one in my time here. Head Boy as well."

"Yes, we've all heard of you," Dolores said smoothly. "Is there anything I can do to help you?"

Tom Riddle contemplated her a moment. She smoothed her hair. The whites of his dark eyes seemed permanently bloody, wrathful in colour. His face was so warped from its purported handsomeness that Dolores found it difficult to make out his emotion, if any.

"What's your name?" Tom Riddle demanded finally, with the guise of politeness.

"Dolores," she answered imperiously. "Dolores Jane Umbridge."

A flicker of arrogant amusement passed over the angles of his sallow face. "Well, Dolores … you may help me by keeping watch on this corridor, just as you've been doing so well," Riddle said charmingly. "My task here will only take a few minutes at most, so there is no need for you to mention it to anyone." The corners of his mouth curled upward, though his eyes remained cold. "It'll be our little secret."

Dolores could not help herself: she quite liked the idea of sharing a secret with the famous Tom Riddle. True, he was different than he had sounded from the accounts of admiring teachers; somewhat darker in countenance. But he still carried himself with such a lazy self-assurance so as to be endearing to her. His command of the situation was so impressive to Dolores that she found she had utterly no curiosity as to what he was doing here in the castle. His power, his confidence, was the stepping stone to achieve greatness in one's life. That combined with a healthy dose of ambition, which Dolores already nurtured.

Dolores had resolved, as Tom Riddle had whisked round the far corner, that she would aspire to emulate that control, that absolute power.

That was why, years later, when He Who Must Not Be Named had finally come into the open, Dolores Jane Umbridge had had no trouble acknowledging his previous identity as that of Tom Riddle, Head Boy of Hogwarts. And look how he had siphoned and refined his talents to achieve something so much greater than a simple schoolboy's success!

She had endured Dumbledore, that old codger, persisting to tell Minister Cornelius Fudge that the Dark Lord was back – that had been two years prior to today – and that he had been Tom Riddle, top student and Head Boy at Hogwarts in his time. And though Dumbledore admittedly _had_ been right about his being back, it hardly mattered now – Dumbledore had gotten himself killed, while He Who Must Not Be Named had ascended to take control of the entire British Wizarding population.

"Muggle lovers never get too far in life without being punished appropriately, Sunshine," Dolores told the soft white kitten depicted on the brooch that lay on her bosom.

The cat merely meowed in response.

"Look at Dumbledore, the senile fool. Lying in a grave, his lies exposed, while his primary antagonist takes over all of Wizarding society."

It was an insurmountable feat, to be sure. Dolores had never seen anything like the Dark Lord's ascendancy, apart from her own regime at Hogwarts two years previously, in which she had dominated every aspect of school life. She had been named High Inquisitor, and then Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Until now, it had been her proudest position, which had satisfied her need for power. She had maintained the high credentials that came with being Senior Undersecretary to the Minister, but now she could boast an even more commanding role: Head of the Muggle-Born Registration Commission.

Dolores fingered her pristine gold locket (though she had taken it as a bribe, no one need know. She preferred to use it as a further reminder of her influence) and strode to the windows of her gilded office, gazing gown at the bustle of the Atrium.

The Ministry had been functioning well during Cornelius' time in office, but it was even stronger than before. The large statue, branded with the inscription "Magic Is Might" could not have made her more pleased to arrive at work each day. She relished her position high above as everyone else worked down below her like minions. On the other side of her office, behind the door, workers spent their days constructing Ministry-issued pamphlets under her watchful eye.

And it was all due to the brilliantly constructed ideas of He Who Must Not Be Named.

Dolores closed her eyes, the feeling of her authority permeating each muscle in her squat body.

The doorknob turned behind her, giving a muted squeak.

Dolores turned around slowly. Her face stretched into a wide, flabby grin.

"Why, hello, Minister! Or at least, that's what everyone _should_ call you. You are indeed running this entire operation, aren't you?"

Lord Voldemort's thin lips were twisted into a sadistic leer. "Your assumption is correct, Madam Umbridge."

"Tut, tut. Please, call me Dolores."

"Dolores. Good work. It is evident that you share my beliefs regarding the purity of blood."

Dolores' smile widened as he said her name aloud. "Tell me," she started, hurrying to the desk as fast as her stubby legs would carry her, "do you enjoy the latest pamphlet I have just drafted this morning? _'Common Cures for the Average Usurper of Magic'_."

She pulled out her unusually short wand and levitated the pamphlet, which unfolded in mid-air.

The Dark Lord's chalk-white, spindly fingers closed around the pamphlet, his sharp red eyes skimming the surface before rising to meet hers. Dolores felt funny little shivers ripple through her under his vermillion gaze. "It's excellent," the Dark Lord declared. "There is no better person to lead this noble effort. You will be rewarded beyond belief."

Dolores smirked, revealing a row of small teeth. "Thank you, Minister." She winked at their secret joke. "I firmly believe that those who disobey the rules deserve to be punished."

The Dark Lord appeared to share her enjoyment of the formal address, but urged her not to publicly call him Minister, as his involvement should still not be officially declared. "You know that would undermine the secrecy of the entire goal, Dolores. And you and I both know we are much too important, our aims too magnificent to be soiled by a tiny slip-up."

Dolores languished in his categorization of them as one and the same. "Why, of course, my Lord. You can trust me. I wouldn't be silly enough to call you Minister apart from when we're alone!" She let out a high-pitched giggle.

His red eyes found hers with satisfaction, as he said, slowly and deliberately, "It'll be our little secret."

Dolores' eyes snapped open, disturbed by a sudden knock upon her door. It was locked of course; the office was empty apart from herself and her array of kittens adorning the walls.

She wiped the smile off her wide face and took a deep breath, bracing herself against the desk. She had often been having daydreams about the Dark Lord dropping by to recognize her work, but never had her fantasies come to fruition. The only real memory she possessed of him was from years ago in that shadowy Hogwarts corridor. The rest, fabricated by her imagination alone, could never be revealed to anyone. It would completely contradict the image of smooth control she had worked so hard to uphold. A trifling fancy could prove a petty human flaw in her elaborately constructed armour.

She would have to satiate herself with the idea that the Dark Lord _would_ indeed be impressed with her _if_ he actually ever showed up at the Ministry. But to appear here would be foolish, obviously. She hardly had reason to believe they'd ever meet again. But all she could do was continue to carry out the agenda as planned. She wondered if he even knew or cared who was operating the Muggle-Born Extermination – er, Registration Commission.

She glanced at the door again as another knock filled the silence.

"Who could that be, Sunshine?" she murmured to the cat, patting the brooch.

Whoever was there had better have a good reason for disrupting her… she marched over to the door and squinted, looking through the telescope she had created using that deceased ex-Auror's eye.

Of course it wouldn't be _him_, she thought, shaking her head in agitation. The Dark Lordwas much too powerful and influential to simply stroll into the Ministry of Magic. She resisted the urge to stomp her feet as she saw Pius Thicknesse's blank, Imperiused stare on the other side of the telescope. Heaving a sigh and smiling as carnivorously as usual, she swung the door open.

"Good day, Minister! What brings you here this morning?"

_It'll be our little secret, _she told herself silently, vowing never to speak a word of her true desires. She had come too far, seized control of so much, that she could hardly be discovered having a silly little crush on He Who Must Not Be Named!


End file.
